


That's weird, right? So you Google

by Brosedshield



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Facebook, Gen, POV Outsider, POV Second Person, Small Towns, facebook stalking, googling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-27 23:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16229924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brosedshield/pseuds/Brosedshield
Summary: Had a conversation about how it would be hard to be Sam and Dean Winchester in the age of Facebook and Google. Whether accurate information showed up, or no information at all, it would be hella suspicious.Thus this drabble was born.





	That's weird, right? So you Google

Monday's a pretty boring night at the bar, generally, but these two hot, funny guys are totally making up for it. They're asking some pretty odd questions about the town, the people, the _culture_ , you know? But they're super funny (especially the shorter one, Dean...who could probably totally bench press you and isn't _that_ an interesting thought?) and the taller guy Sam has the best hair and just yes please.

They head out, you finish your drink, and it's not until you're home that you realize you didn't get their number, which is a _damn_ shame. They seemed, like, _together_ but maybe they'd be down for something anyway, you know? 

So you do what any sensible soul does when confronted with mysterious hot guys: you Facebook them, but no dice. Even trying a couple variations on the last name, Winchester, doesn't help.

That's weird, right? So you Google.

Nothing there either. Who the hell doesn't have even one hit on Google?

You go back to the bar the next day, even though it's a Tuesday, because you're a creeper. Look, you live in a town so small that everyone knows everyone else's business, and it's just weird not to know what's going on with those guy, okay?

You ask the bartender how they spelled their last name, cause you know Dean paid with a credit card. He looks you in the eye. "Winchester? The card said Dan Mozinski."

It's fucking Wednesday morning when you hear that the old barn on the edge of town (the one where old man Samuelson hung himself a decade ago) burned down on Tuesday night. The EMTs found a body in the rubble. A black classic car was spotted leaving the scene of the crime. And you can't fucking _believe_ you Facebook stalked those psychos.

"They were serial killers, and I totally wanted to bone them," you tell the bartender after one too many drinks on Wednesday night.

He nods sadly, and is gentleman enough to get you another Jack and Coke on the house.


End file.
